


i never believed in happy endings anyway

by notcaycepollard



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Skoulson Romfest 2k16, fairytale, mandatory undercover prompt, mentioned past Lincoln/Daisy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-19
Updated: 2016-01-19
Packaged: 2018-05-14 23:15:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5762692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notcaycepollard/pseuds/notcaycepollard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Skoulson RomFest 2k16 DAY 2 - 19 January - mandatory undercover prompt, fairytale</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Did you choose the dress on purpose?" Daisy laughs.</p>
<p>"Figured I was allowed one princess dress in my lifetime," she shrugs. "Not as much skirt as a Disney princess, though."</p>
<p>"It's nice," Coulson says, like he doesn't know what else to say. There's another pause, and then, softer, "Sorry I'm hardly Prince Charming." Daisy doesn't reply for a long moment. What could she say? <em>No, remember how you saved me, like, a million times? Faced down monsters for me? Followed me down into alien cities?</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	i never believed in happy endings anyway

It's the kind of undercover mission Daisy thought spy business was all about, once. The kind involving glitzy parties, fancy dresses, Coulson in a suit that's even nicer than usual. She's half tempted to ask for a martini, shaken.

She hasn't been undercover at a party like this since Ian Quinn's, though, and the memory of him - all the memories of him - are enough to put her on edge even if she weren't here with Coulson. She can tell he's uncomfortable too. He'd given her a weird look when she came out in her dress ( _gown_ , she thinks, it's totally fancy enough to count as a gown, especially given all the beading and chiffon) and since then, he's been adjusting his cuffs, shifting his weight, looking at her and then away in tiny, careful glances that never stay long enough for her to catch his eye.

"Relax," she murmurs, leans in a little closer. "We're supposed to be a couple." Coulson hums a little, almost under his breath, frowns incrementally.

"It's hardly a realistic cover," he mutters back. "I'm obviously too old for you," and Daisy shoots him a look that's half surprise and half eye rolling.

"Seriously?" she asks. "Look around. We're in good company." The idea of it, that Coulson thinks he's  _old_ , suddenly stings, and she grabs his hand, pulls him onto the dance floor. "Come on," she says. "Show me those dance moves you learned at the Academy." Coulson frowns again but doesn't resist, lets her step in closer, rests his hand on the small of her back.

"Do you even know how to waltz?" he asks, and Daisy steps smoothly into it.

"Sure I do," she tells him. "Learned it from watching Disney movies.  _Cinderella_ , and stuff."

"Huh," Coulson replies, pauses and looks down at her for longer this time. "Did you choose the dress on purpose?" Daisy laughs.

"Figured I was allowed one princess dress in my lifetime," she shrugs. "Not as much skirt as a Disney princess, though."

"It's nice," Coulson says, like he doesn't know what else to say. There's another pause, and then, softer, "Sorry I'm hardly Prince Charming." Daisy doesn't reply for a long moment. What could she say?  _No, remember how you saved me, like, a million times? Faced down monsters for me? Followed me down into alien cities?_

"I'm pretty sure you'd fight a dragon to save the girl," she says in the end, purposefully light, and he chuckles just a little.

"I was supposed to, you know," he says after a beat.

"Fight a dragon?" Daisy asks, turns in time with the music, runs her fingers over his shoulder, the fine wool of his suit.

"Be Prince Charming," Coulson says, as if it's obvious. "My mom had a real thing for  _Sleeping Beauty_."

"Oh," Daisy realizes. " _Philip_."

"Yeah," Coulson says. They dance together in silence for almost the length of a song before he speaks again. "Why me?" he asks her. "On this mission, I mean. I know you organized it with Mack. Why not Lincoln?"

"Lincoln and I broke up," Daisy says, carefully matter-of-fact, and Coulson makes a surprised noise.

"You did?"

"Yeah," Daisy says. "A month ago." She's not shocked he hasn't noticed, given how caught up in his own thoughts he's been, but she'd thought the tension between her and Lincoln had been pretty unmistakeable.

"Oh," Coulson says, tightens his fingers a little on her back. "Oh. I- I'm sorry." Daisy purposely looks away, gazes over his shoulder.

"It's okay," she tells him. "I never believed in happy endings anyway."

 

 

It turns out the biggest downfall of undercover missions with glitzy parties and fancy dresses is the risk of spraining an ankle while running in impractically high heels. Daisy winces as Coulson helps her hobble into the hotel room, sits gratefully down in the nearest armchair.

"I'm fine," she tries, and he just gives her a look. "Okay, it _hurts_ , but if I can just get out of these shoes-" Coulson drops to his knees, reaches for her foot and very gently undoes the strap of the stupid too-high heels, rotates her ankle cautiously. Daisy holds back a hiss of pain, grits her teeth, but it must show on her face, because he gives her another look, a little worried.

"Keep it elevated," he tells her, gets back to his feet and pulls the other armchair close enough that she can rest her heel on it, disappears into the bathroom and comes back with a washcloth which he fills with ice from the minibar.

"Oh," she says when he rests it against her ankle, can't help but sigh in relief. "Oh, that's- that feels good, Coulson, thanks."

"We can't stay here too long," Coulson says. "Do you think you'll be able to walk?"

"Not in those," Daisy admits, tilting her head toward the shoe lying discarded next to her. "But if I strapped it up, maybe in sneakers?"

"Okay," he says. "Okay. I'll be back in a minute." It feels like hours that he's gone, hours that Daisy feels too-vulnerable alone in the hotel room even though she's reasonably sure nobody followed them. When Coulson gets back, she sighs again, relaxes into the familiar sensation of his vibrations. He's carrying a plastic bag stamped with the logo of a drugstore, pulls out a pair of cheap canvas sneakers.

"My knight in shining armor," she jokes, and Coulson actually cracks a grin.

"Had to guess your size," he says. "I guess I should have just asked. How's it feeling?" Daisy wriggles her toes, flexes her foot. It hurts, but not as much as it did, and she smiles reassuringly.

"The ice helped," she tells him, and Coulson kneels at her feet again, touches her ankle with impossibly tender fingers.

"It's swelling a bit," he says, "but I think you're right, if we strap it up you should be able to make it back to base." He rummages in the bag, finds an Ace bandage. "Can I-" he asks, and she nods, lets him wrap the cloth tightly around her foot and ankle until only her toes are visible. He's touching her so carefully, so lightly, but Daisy still shivers, feels every trace of his fingers - flesh and robot - on her skin. "Cold?" he asks, pulls a sock on over the bandage, and she shakes her head, watches him unlace a sneaker and slide it onto her foot, tie the laces neatly in a loop.

"Oh," she realizes when he reaches for her other foot, "I can-"

"It's fine," Coulson says. "Let me?"

"Okay," she says, uncertain now, because Coulson helping her with a sprained ankle, that's one thing, but Coulson slowly pulling off her other heel, tracing his fingers up her instep, touching the hollow of her ankle bone, it feels like the most intimate thing anyone's ever done. Coulson's hands are very warm on the arch of her foot.

He pulls a sock on, and then slides on the other sneaker, pushes until her heel settles into place. "Hey," he says, very quietly. "The shoe fits."

"Yeah," Daisy whispers. "Yes." Coulson doesn't look up, stays kneeling in front of her, ties her laces with fingers that shake just a little. Pauses, and then runs his fingers, very light, up the curve of her bare calf to her knee. She shifts, lifts her other foot down from the armchair, and her skirt falls in a rustle of silk from where it's been hiked up against her thighs. Coulson leaves his hand on her knee for just a moment too long.

"Come on," he says, "the clock's struck twelve."

"We should get home," Daisy agrees. "Before our carriage turns into a pumpkin."

"Better than pricking your finger on a spindle," Coulson tells her. "We've already established I'm not Prince Charming here."

"Yeah," Daisy says, doesn't move. "No fairytale endings for us." Coulson stands up, holds out his hand to help her to her feet. She gathers up her discarded high heels, swings them by the strap in one hand, takes his hand in the other. Her ankle twinges, but she was right; with the bandage, and the sneakers, she'll be okay to walk, at least.

"It's a pity," Coulson says, and Daisy realizes he's standing very close. "I do like the dress."


End file.
